


I'm the satellite, and you're the sky

by JanetSnakehole



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: All-Around Sassfest, F/M, Sassy Darcy Lewis, Sassy Steve Rogers, Steve Has Issues, Steve Rogers Feels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-23
Updated: 2015-12-08
Packaged: 2018-04-10 19:38:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4404764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JanetSnakehole/pseuds/JanetSnakehole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So let me get this straight. You want me to go hang out with Captain America, in a cabin in the woods, and teach him how to text?”</p>
<p>..........</p>
<p>Darcy's a SHIELD newbie. Steve's a recently defrosted, world-saving superhero. They both end up needing each other in ways they didn't expect. (rating for eventual smut)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There's an episode of Agents of SHIELD where Coulson and Skye are in a cabin in the woods, and Coulson says that Rogers spent some time there after they pulled him out of the ice. Naturally, my brain went, "Hey, you know who else could've been there? Darcy. And then the sex occurred." Never mind the fact that I haven't written any fanfic at all for the last ten years, and I wasn't very good at it then. But when a plot attacks your brain, sometimes it just has to be written. 
> 
> Set after Captain America: TFA, before The Avengers. AU, I guess, cuz Darcy works for SHIELD.
> 
> Work title from the song "Cecelia and the Satellite" by Andrew McMahon.

When Darcy had accepted SHIELD’s job offer, she hadn’t expected to be given an actual assignment. They had made it very clear that she was some sort of sub-junior-agent-in-training. Basically it was her job to file paperwork (who even kept hard copies anymore?!) and put together thorough briefing packets for actual agents doing actual espionage. Or whatever it was that SHIELD did. Darcy wasn’t entirely clear on that, and she had the feeling SHIELD liked it that way.

But not two weeks after she had signed on as a glorified desk jockey, Agent Phil Coulson himself showed up in her cubicle, all dark-suited and stoic as usual. 

“Miss Lewis, good to see you again.” 

“Agent Coulson. Are you here to confiscate more of my personal items?”

“Hardly. In fact, I’m here to give you something.”

“A pony?!” She asked, excitedly, bouncing up and down in her desk chair like a kid on Christmas. “And I didn’t even get you anything.”

The faintest flicker of a smile crossed his face. Did that man ever have real facial expressions? “Sadly, not today. I assume you’ve heard the rumors about what we found in the ice?”

Darcy shrugged. “I hear a lot of rumors, but I don’t tend to pay much attention to them. By the time they make it all the way down to the desk grunts, they’re pretty far off base.” She paused. “You didn’t actually find a frozen caveman, did you? Is there an Encino Man situation I need to be aware of?”

“Not exactly.” He handed her a file folder, with CLASSIFIED, LEVEL 5 in big red letters across the front. “Typically we wouldn’t bring someone so green on to a project like this, but we feel you’re uniquely suited to the situation.”

Darcy just stared at the file. “I’m not a level five. I don’t think I’m even a level one yet. That Koenig guy still won’t give me a lanyard.”

“Just look at the file, Darcy.” Coulson turned and left without another word.

“Good talk, Coulson! Next time try not to be so chatty!” Darcy called after his retreating back. She opened the file, and gaped open mouthed at the summary page. She flipped through a few more pages, and saw, frozen in ice, _Captain Freakin’ America_. She let out a low whistle. “Way better than a caveman,” she muttered to herself. 

Darcy spent the rest of her morning reading the file. The final pages were the briefing for her assignment. She re-read the pages several times, not sure she was comprehending them correctly. She dialed Coulson’s extension.

“This is Coulson.”

“So let me get this straight,” she said, not bothering with any sort of greeting. “You want me to go hang out with Captain America, in a cabin in the woods, and teach him how to text?”

Darcy pictured Coulson’s wry half-smile as he answered. “That’s a bit of an oversimplification.”

“Right, you want me to teach him how to Google stuff, too.”

Coulson sighed. “He needs to be brought up to date. Not just on tech, but everything. He’s been out of commission since the forties, he’s missed a hell of a lot.”

“So, basic world history lesson, quickie tech rundown, followed by marathon watching of the greatest 100 movies he missed out on.” She paused, a thought dawning on her. “Oh my God, he’s gotta be the only person on Earth who doesn’t know that Darth Vader is Luke’s father. I’m going to get to watch Captain America have his mind blown.”

“I would prefer if you stick to the information we’ve outlined in your briefing.”

“Coulson. The man has been a popsicle for like seventy years. He deserves to enjoy something, not just be forced into private tutoring with a freshly graduated poly-sci major. He’s a person, too.”

“You’re expected to report to the location in the file at 0800 tomorrow. You’d better get yourself ready.” Coulson hung up the phone, thinking about what she’d said. _He’s a person, too._ He’d been right to choose her.

***

It turned out that they were keeping Captain America in a cabin in the middle of who-the-hell-knows-where. So to get there by 0800 (military time was just one of SHIELD’s many idiosyncrasies that she’d had to get used to), she had to be picked up by one of SHIELD’s black SUVs at around 5:30. She yawned a hello at her driver, who introduced himself as Derek. He opened the door for her, and she climbed into the back seat. “I’m just gonna doze for a little while,” she mumbled, head leaning against the cool window and closing her eyes. It took a few minutes for her to drift off, despite barely having slept the night before. Since receiving the assignment from Coulson, Darcy’s stomach had been tying itself in jittery knots. Was she really ready for an assignment like this? For Captain America? Eventually, though, sleep overtook her. 

The SUV drove over a large pothole, and Darcy jerked and smacked her head against the window. “Son of a bitch, that hurt,” she grumbled to herself, sitting up and rubbing the tender spot on her skull. She peeled her sleep-sticky eyelids apart and looked around. This was… different than Manhattan. The road was a dry, dusty brown and massive pines surrounded them on all sides. The sun shone merrily down on the woods, and Darcy smiled, despite her mild headache and her nerves creeping back in. She could see why someone would want to spend some alone time out here.

“Miss?” Derek asked from the front seat. “We’re almost there. Agent Coulson asked me to give you this–“ he grabbed a laptop bag from the passenger seat and handed it back to her, “–it’s for your assignment.”

Darcy unzipped it, and found a slim silver MacBook, and the newest model iPhone in the box. Additionally, there was a sheet of paper with a list of topics that she was to cover. _Please stick to the list_ was scrawled across the bottom of the paper. She sighed, and noticed that the bag also held a square, white envelope. She opened it, and slid out Blu-Ray copies of Star Wars episodes IV-VI. She flipped the envelope over, and in the same handwriting was: _In case he picks the rest up ahead of schedule._ Darcy smiled. Coulson wasn’t all bad, really. 

Removing the compact from her purse, Darcy made sure to wipe the mascara smudges from under her eyes and reapply some of her vibrant red lipstick. She was pretty sure Derek was chuckling to himself from the front seat when he noticed her primping. “What, a girl can’t look good for a damn national icon?” 

Derek shrugged and smiled at her in the rearview mirror. “Point taken.” He pulled off the main road down a narrow dirt driveway. The SUV came to a stop a few moments later, in front of a sizable log cabin. Darcy just stared at the cabin’s door, not moving. Derek continued to watch her in the mirror. “Miss Lewis? We’re here.”

Darcy took a deep breath, forcing down the particularly strong urge to start dry heaving in the backseat. “Yes, Derek, thank you. I’m just trying to…. collect my thoughts.” 

“You’ll do great. The Captain’s a nice guy,” Derek said reassuringly. “I’ll be back at 1700 to pick you up.”

Were her nerves really that obvious? That didn’t bode well for spending the day with an honest-to-God superhero. “Thanks,” she said, so quietly she could barely even hear herself. Darcy collected the laptop bag and her own belongings, and got out of the car, smoothing down her slightly rumpled shirt. She took another deep breath to steady herself and walked up the steps on the front porch of the cabin. She wiped some of the sweat from her palm onto her jeans, and knocked on the door.

Darcy didn’t realize she had completely stopped breathing until the door swung open a few moments later. She looked up and found herself staring into piercing blue eyes framed with the most obscenely long lashes she’d ever seen on a human. And oh, for the love of Christ. The man had grown a beard. Something about the dark stubble made his jaw look somehow more chiseled and lips even poutier than the pictures. She was so distracted by staring at him it took her a second to realize he had said something. She shook off her handsomeness-induced daze.“Sorry, what?”

“I said, who the hell are you?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been a minute since posting! End of summer semester at school + a lot of very very long work days = not a lot of time for writing.
> 
> I also just want to say thank you so much to everyone who read and enjoyed the first chapter! I really appreciate any feedback you all have.

Steve had been standing in the kitchen when he heard the knock. Not cooking, or eating, just standing. He’d been doing that a fair amount lately. Didn’t have much else to do. So just standing, eyes unfocused on the wall and playing through memories of crashing planes, of Bucky, of Peggy, of everything that he had known, that had been gone for seventy years, well, it seemed like as good a use of his time as anything else. 

The knock snapped him out of his daze. In a few long steps he was at the front door, wrenching it open. Looking up at him was a curvy brunette, the kind of girl the boys in the 107th would’ve kept pictures of in their bunks. Her huge blue eyes were staring at him intently, which took him aback.

“Yes?” he said, curiosity temporarily taking over for his surprise at being disturbed in what was supposed to be a top secret facility. She continued to stare at him, non responsive. “Who are you, exactly?” Still no response. Steve started to feel annoyed, frustration creeping in.

She blinked, once, twice. “Sorry, what?”

“I said, who the hell are you?” Steve snapped, irritation levels rising.

She put up her hands defensively. “Sorry, man, didn’t mean to disturb you or whatever. I’m Darcy Lewis.” She held out a hand to shake. He just crossed his arms over his chest in response. She put her hand back down by her side and continued. “I’m here from SHIELD.” 

“Why, exactly?” The agents who brought him here had told him he could stay in the cabin as long as he needed to get his head on straight and that he wouldn’t be disturbed.

Her face fell, disappointment etched in her delicate features, and he felt a little bad for being so short with her. “No one told you I was coming, did they?” 

“Apparently not. But since you’re here, and your ride is already gone, why don’t you tell me yourself?” He stepped aside, and gestured her in. She walked past him, taking in her surroundings for a moment. She crossed to the couch, and hesitated for a second.

“May I?” she asked, voice faltering a little. Now Steve felt legitimately bad for snapping at her. 

“Please do,” he said, smiling in what he hoped was a reassuring manner and sitting in the chair across from her.

“Well, like I said, I’m Darcy, and I work at SHIELD,” she started, sitting down and making direct eye contact with the arm of the couch instead of him. “Since you’ve been, you know…. out of the field…” Steve almost smiled at her diplomatic way of dancing around what his actual situation had been, “… for so long, SHIELD thought you could use someone to bring you up to date on what you’ve missed. Technology, basic history, everything.” She lifted her eyes from the couch slowly, warily meeting his own.

“So you’re an agent, then.” Steve was trying to get a feel for her. She seemed like she wasn’t used to dancing around someone like this, trying to act timidly.

Darcy smiled, her full lips stretching wide. “Not exactly. I work for SHIELD, but this is actually my first assignment.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “So how did you get picked for this gig?”

“Do you really want to know?” she asked, brows knitting together in disbelief. He nodded. “Well, after they… found you, I guess we’ll call it, they tried to trick you, right? Make you think you were still in the forties? That, plus the general trauma from everything you’d been through, indicated a level of distrust on your part for authority, SHIELD specifically. They thought you’d respond better to someone who so clearly–“ she waved a hand up and down in front of herself, drawing attention to her casual demeanor “–was not a top member of the Secret Organization of Shadowy Figures.”

Steve let out a low chuckle at that. “I’m sure they have plenty of people with more experience who aren’t shadowy.”

“They do,” she replied, wry smile playing at her red lips. “But no other people whose psych evals deemed them–“ she made quotation marks in the air in front of her “–‘forthcoming to the point of being a potential security risk.’ They thought you’d appreciate the honesty.”

“If you’re such a potential risk, why did they hire you in the first place?” 

“It was more of a security risk to leave me unsupervised. Long story short: I was working for a scientist in New Mexico, she discovered a wormhole, we met an alien god, his lunatic brother tried to kill him and destroyed a small town. SHIELD, of course, was all over that, and decided I knew too much.” She rolled her eyes. “You post _one_ picture of a thousand-year-old Viking space prince on your Facebook, all of a sudden you’re a threat to national security.”

Steve stared at her blankly. This girl was becoming more interesting by the minute. “I have no idea what that means.”

She waved dismissively. “Doesn’t matter. I probably wasn’t supposed to tell you about it, anyway.” She drummed her fingers on the arm of the couch and sighed. “So are we doing this, or what? I drove all the way out here, the least I could do is set up an email account for you.”

He sighed, not wanting to explain that, a: he didn’t know what an email account was, or if he should want one, and b: he wasn’t really in a state of mind to be spending his time with a mouthy, not-quite SHIELD agent learning about everything he missed while his remaining friends and family members were living their lives without him. The look on his face seemed to say enough for him.

Darcy looked at him with sympathy in her eyes. “Look, I know this is weird. You’ve been out of commission for a while. I’ve read your file. Even before you were the world-saving superhero, you weren’t the type of guy to ask for help when your back was against the wall. But you don’t need to ask. I’m offering.”

Steve just shook his head. “I’m not even sure I can be that person anymore. Not sure I want to,” he said softly.

She just stared at him silently for a few moments, trying to plan her words carefully. “You’ve been through some serious shit, Captain. But you know what? So has the rest of the world. There are aliens, and super villains, and just regular old terrorists to worry about now. We could use some help. What happened to the little guy who didn’t like bullies?”

He met her clear blue eyes with his own. “He tried to save everyone, and lost a lot in the process.”

Darcy’s eyes darkened with anger and she clenched her jaw. “Okay, fine. If you decide that you want to disappear off the face of the Earth– _again_ – that’s your prerogative. If you want to turn your back on the man you’ve always been, muscles or not, that’s on you. You can feel free to walk away from all the good you could still do, all the lives you could save. I’m just trying to get you up to speed on the twenty first century.” She threw up her hands in exasperation. She rifled around in her purse and pulled out a slim, black rectangle. 

“This is a portable phone. This one has about a hundred times the computer processing power of anything that existed when you went under. It’s also storing around eight thousand songs, two thousand photos, and can do literally hundreds of things you’ve never even dreamed of. And the world out there? It’s changed a bit since you left, too. Our president’s black, thanks in part to a little something called civil rights. We have two more states now, bringing us up to a nice round fifty. Germany, Italy, and Japan are some of our closest allies. Oh, yeah, and the Soviet Union isn’t a thing anymore, it’s fifteen different countries now.”

She got up, grabbed her purse, and stalked over to the front door. “So if you think you’re better off trying to figure all that out by yourself, on top of everything else you’re working through, go nuts. You won’t have to deal with me anymore.” She wrenched the door open and walked out, slamming it behind her. Two seconds later she came back in. “Oh yeah, and we landed on the fucking moon!” She stomped back out, slamming the door once more.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit. This has taken me approximately forever, and for that I deeply apologize. Life's been a little bananas, and I've never been very good at making time for writing (non-school things, anyway). 
> 
> On another note, I want to say thank you from the bottom of my heart for the overwhelmingly amazing response to this story! I love hearing the feedback, and it is just so fabulous to hear from all of you.

Darcy stormed out of the cabin, fuming. Who does he think he is, anyway? She’s just trying to help him acclimate to a world that’s practically unrecognizable. What’s he gonna do? Live in this cabin like a hermit forever, and just ignore the rest of the world? 

 

She got about ten feet out the door when she remembered that Derek had dropped her off and headed back into the city. And that she was in the middle of nowhere, with no ride and nothing to do for another–she checked her watch–eight and three quarters hours. 

 

“Fuck,” she muttered to herself, sitting down on the cabin’s front steps. “Way to go, Darce.” 

 

Should she call SHIELD? She didn’t imagine that Coulson would be terribly happy to hear that it had taken all of fifteen minutes for her to yell at Captain America and storm off. Maybe she should just wait out here till Derek came back… and then what? Come back tomorrow morning and yell at him again? 

 

She had been sitting with her elbows on her knees and face buried in her arms when she heard the door open behind her. The Captain’s voice sounded from the doorway. “What exactly was your plan for after you stormed out?"

 

Darcy couldn’t help but laugh at the situation. “I have no idea,” she said, the sound muffled by her arms. She turned to face him, and relief flooded through her when he seemed amused rather than angry. “There’s a chance I may not have thought it through completely.”

 

He smiled and extended a hand to her, helping her to her feet. She felt a little lightheaded, and she told herself it was a head rush from standing too quickly, not from holding the hand of Captain America, and certainly not from the way his blinding smile made his bright blue eyes crinkle at the edges. 

 

“Why don’t we start this over?” he said, moving his grip so he had her hand in a firm handshake. “I’m Steve Rogers.”

 

“Darcy Lewis. I’m here to unravel the mysteries of the twenty-first century, and definitely not to yell at you.”

 

“That’s a relief. Because I’ve already been shouted at this morning, and I’m not sure my delicate constitution could handle any more.” 

 

Darcy had expected a lot of things from Steve Rogers, but sarcasm had not been one of them. She liked it. She led the way back into the cabin. “Alright, then, Steve. Let’s get started.” 

 

*****

Darcy had predicted teaching Steve how to operate an iPhone would be like when she tried to teach her Nonna how to use Skype. Sure, some of the problem there had been the language barrier (Darcy’s understanding of Italian centered around food and swearing, and did not include a lot of technological vocabulary), but Steve picked things up pretty much instantly and never needed her to repeat anything. 

 

They were sitting on the couch next to each other, texting away.

 

D: _You’re much better at this than my eighty year old grandmother_.

 

Darcy patiently watched the three dots on her messaging screen as Steve slowly typed his response. He had already known how to type (on a typewriter, of course, but at least the keyboard arrangement was the same) from before he went under, but using a teeny tiny touch screen was something of a hurdle for someone with such big hands. Not that she had been paying that much attention to the size of his hands. Or how strong they looked. Nope. Very little attention had been given. 

 

S: _You seem surprised?_

 

Darcy fired off a quick response.

 

D: _Well, she is almost twenty years younger than you_.

 

Steve chuckled to himself as he typed, and Darcy watched the three dots.

 

S: _She sounds great. Is she free this weekend?_

 

D: _You’re a sick man, Rogers_.

 

S: _You’re the one who won’t actually talk to me from two feet away. Maybe you’re the sick one, Lewis._

 

Darcy dropped her phone on the couch. “Fine, Steve. I was just trying to get you used to the fact that this is how people talk these days. Phones are almost never for actually calling someone, they’re for texting and Instagram and a bunch of other stuff we haven’t covered yet.” An idea popped into her head. “Actually, I’ll just show you.”

 

She grabbed a small notebook and a pen from her purse, and drew a large circle that took up most of the page. She drew some lines in the circle, dividing it up into wedges, and scribbled some words next to each wedge. She titled the chart “Darcy’s Super Scientific and Accurate Chart of Phone Usage” and handed it off to Steve. 

 

Right away his artist’s eye and soldier’s brain honed in on the fact that the percentage values she had assigned each wedge didn’t match up with their actual sizes, but it seemed wise not to point that out. According to Darcy, phones were used for: 31% texting, 24% social media (which had the subheadings Twitter, Instagram, Facebook, Tumblr, Pinterest, and Snapchat, even though Steve had yet to learn what those were), 21% music, 18% “web browsing you’re too lazy to get your laptop for,” and 4% actual phone calls.

 

Steve studied this chart for a moment before picking up his phone to send her a message. 

 

S: _That only adds up to 98 percent._

 

Darcy rolled her eyes, grabbed the paper back from him and added another line. “Happy now?” She had squeezed in a wedge labeled 2% calculators. “SHIELD didn’t hire me for my ability to do math.”

 

S: _Let’s hope not._

 

Darcy laughed and grabbed the phone out of his hand. “I’m already regretting teaching you anything.” She checked her watch; two hours had passed since she’d first knocked on his door. A small grumble in her stomach reminded her that she hadn’t eaten anything before she left home that morning. “You wanna take a break? I’m starving.”

 

Steve shrugged. “Sure. But I’m not really much of a cook…” he trailed off as Darcy had already started pulling ingredients out of the refrigerator. “You have no problem making yourself at home, do you?”

 

“You complain about it now, but just wait until you get a taste of my frittata,” Darcy fired back as she pulled a cutting board and some bowls out from under the counter.

 

“A taste of your _what_?” Steve asked, scandalized, his eyebrows shooting up toward his hairline and the tips of his ears going pink.

 

She decided not to mention the blush, but it did make her stomach do a little flip to know that even squeaky-clean Steve had an impure thought or two. Even if it was just a misunderstanding. She flashed him a smile and said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “A frittata. It’s like a big omelette.” 

 

He relaxed a little and smiled back at her, the flush disappearing from his ears. Darcy stopped her kitchen rummaging for a moment, and said, “So, Steve, I have to be honest with you. We’re not actually taking a study break right now.”

 

One of his eyebrows arched. “We’re not?”

 

She shook her head. “No. In fact, this might be the most important thing I have to teach you.” Darcy picked up her phone, scrolling around until she found what she wanted. A guitar riff started to play from the phone’s tiny speaker. “There’s been a whole lot of good music since you went under. And I’m going to do my best to get you as up to date as possible.” 

 

Steve just stared at the phone as Chuck Berry began to sing. _Deep down Louisiana, close to New Orleans…_ Darcy opened her mouth to start telling him about the beginnings of rock and roll, but stopped when she saw the look of awe creeping across his face. (She also had to bite back the urge to say “Chuck! It’s Marvin! Your cousin, Marvin Berry!” because obviously he would not have appreciated the reference. What a shame.) She waited until the last strains of the song ended before saying anything. 

 

“I’ve been making some playlists, more or less arranged by era and genre. We’re starting in early rock and roll.” Steve just gave her a blank look. “It sprung up in the US in the late 40’s, early 50’s. It sort of pulled from a bunch of different styles, like blues, jazz, and country, and next thing you know, there’s a music revolution.” 

 

Steve looked a little skeptical. “Don’t you think we should focus on the important things first? Like how the war ended? Or maybe more about how we went to the moon?”

 

Darcy shrugged. “Probably. But I’m hungry, and I like to listen to music while I cook.” 

 

A new song came on, something about a party in the county jail? If Steve wasn’t completely confident in his enhanced hearing, he would’ve thought he misheard the lyrics. She started dicing a pepper, dancing and humming along to the new song as she did so. Steve found himself laughing as she stood up on her tiptoes, bent her knees and sort of swiveled her hips around. “Is that what people dance like nowadays?” 

 

She waved a hand dismissively. “Just Elvis. It was kind of his thing. And if you had any idea who that was, you’d be congratulating me on my spot-on impression.” She paused, thinking. 

 

“Although if it was really that accurate, you’d probably have been a lot more scandalized by it. His dancing was considered, um…” She trailed off a little, trying to decide how best to phrase it. The little voice in the back of her head that usually (okay, _occasionally_ ) told her to pump the brakes on embarrassing conversations started to pipe up. 

 

_Stop talking, Darcy_. 

 

She cleared her throat to continue. “…unfit for family viewing.” 

 

_You can be done saying words, now._

 

“Because of the, you know,” 

 

_no no NO NO STOP TALKING_  

 

“…thrusting.” 

 

_You said “thrust” to Captain America, you should probably just be dead now._

 

Darcy’s cheeks burned with crimson and she turned away, praying with every fiber of her being that Steve couldn’t see how mortified she was by her own words. She started rummaging about in the pantry, trying to think of a change of topic but only hearing herself saying “thrusting” over and over in her own head. She couldn’t remember the last time when she was at such a loss for words. Possibly never.

 

Steve, bless his star-spangled socks, broke through the awkward silence first. “So how do you know so much about music? This must have been forty years before you were even born.”

 

She sighed in relief, but kept her head obscured by the pantry door for a few more moments to let her heated face cool down. “My dad, mostly. He was a music teacher, actually. He and I used to sit around together and listen to all his old records, and he’d teach me everything he knew about it.” She took a deep breath to steady the tremor in her voice that always made an appearance when she got emotional, and turned to face Steve. A lump caught in her throat as she swallowed to continue, trying to ignore the stinging behind her eyes. “And when he died, it made me feel, I don’t know, more connected to him somehow to keep listening to his old records. It was all I had left of him, I guess.” _Why did I just tell him that? I’ve never even told Jane. Damn that trustworthy face of his._

 

An overwhelming self-consciousness flooded through her at the admission, and she could feel her cheeks flaming up again. That was _way_ too much personal information to be sharing two hours into a work assignment. “This, the music, it was a stupid idea, really. Just forget I mentioned it.” She reached for her phone to turn off the music and was surprised when his large hand covered hers, stopping her.

 

“It’s not stupid, Darcy. I want to know whatever you want to teach me.” His eyes were bright and deeply sympathetic. She remembered reading in his file that he had lost his father when he was young, and his mother just a few years later. He stroked the back of her knuckles with his thumb. With any other guy, Darcy would’ve thought he was trying to be flirty with the hand-touching and sincere eye contact; with Steve, though, it just felt comforting. Safe. Weirdly natural. Of course, that didn’t exempt her stomach from doing a little salsa move from the intensity of his blue eyes (that, and the realization that yes, his hands were as big as they seemed at first glance).

 

A text alert pinged, demanding her attention and breaking any spell that may or may not have descended over them. She slid her hand out from Steve’s (albeit a bit regretfully) and saw that Coulson had messaged her: _How’s it coming?_ Of course, he would want to make sure she was following the prescribed agenda. She rolled her eyes and texted him back a series of emojis: Muscle arm, American flag, iPhone, and a thumbs up. If he couldn’t wrangle up a super-spy decoder ring (or an intern) to translate that, he was probably in the wrong business. 

 

Steve raised an eyebrow as if to ask who the text was from. Darcy just rolled her eyes again. “My boss. Totally pretending to check up on me, but really he wants to know if the man lives up to the legend,” she said, gesturing at him. At Steve’s confused look, she explained, “He’s a big fan of the Captain. Has the trading cards and everything.”

 

He gave her a sad smile, and a distant look came over him; clearly his mind had gone somewhere else. “And do I?”

 

“Do you what?”

 

“Live up to the legend?” He wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to hear the answer. Captain America went down in the ice seventy-odd years prior; he wasn’t entirely sure who had come out. 

 

She looked him up and down carefully. “Well, let’s see: tall, broad-shouldered, with the chiseled jaw and the cheekbones? Big check in that column.” She made an imaginary tick mark in the air with her finger. Steve squirmed at being appraised like this, but it was a surprisingly cute look for him. “Patriotic music blaring non-diegetically when you enter the room? Unfortunately lacking. Ability to single-handedly fight twelve to fifteen Nazis at a time? To be determined, though I have yet to see any evidence supporting that. Fighting a never-ending battle for truth, justice, and the American Way?”

 

“That was actually Superman,” Steve interrupted, the corners of his mouth quirking up into a half-smile.

 

“My point exactly. You’re not even as patriotic as a fictional space alien.” She fixed him with her mother’s patented “I’m so disappointed in you” stare. “Hate to break it to you, Steve, but you’re actually kind of a letdown.” 

 

“Kids these days, so hard to impress,” Steve said, deadpan. “Time was, all you had to do was punch Adolf Hitler and lift up a couple dames on a motorcycle.”

 

Darcy glared at him. “Kids?! I’m a grown-ass woman, thank you very much.” 

 

He just grinned at her, snatched a piece of the bell pepper she seemed to have forgotten she was cutting and popped it in his mouth. Grown-ass woman, indeed. Yeah, he had noticed; her rumpled t-shirt did nothing to hide the figure underneath. 

 

“You do that again, Rogers, you’re losing a finger, national treasure or no,” she threatened, brandishing the chef’s knife at him. He put his hands up in mock surrender, which just made her glare at him more. She began chopping an onion with considerably more fervor than she had been using before. As frequently happened when she was cooking, Darcy found herself getting into a rhythm. Chop something, put a cast iron pan on the burner, toss the vegetables in, beat some eggs. For the first time since she had walked into the cabin that morning, she wasn’t acutely aware of what Steve was doing. Mostly she just hummed along to her carefully crafted playlist while she cooked. After about ten minutes of no conversation, as she was serving slices of warm, fluffy frittata, it finally dawned on Darcy that she had probably plunged them into an awkward silence.

 

She was about to hand him a plate when she looked up to find Steve holding her phone. Her heart stopped and all the air went out of her lungs. His face was screwed up in…. concentration? Confusion? Oh God, if he opened Tinder…. 

 

He glanced up and beamed at her brilliantly. “Did you know you can take photographs on your phone?” 

 

Steve’s earnest excitement was so beyond adorable that Darcy had no choice but to smile back at him, taking a deep breath in relief. She motioned for him to give her the phone and he handed it over. He picked up a fork and proceeded to shove half of his piece of frittata into his mouth in one bite. Switching the phone from photo to video, she informed him, “You can also film on them, too.” 

 

She turned the screen back towards him, and his eyes went wide again as he watched the five second video she had just taken of him eating voraciously. “Wow.” He looked back up at her, concern reflecting in his eyes. “Is that really what I look like when I eat?”

 

“Hey, if it makes you feel any better, there are probably some weirdos in a distant corner of the Internet who would pay top dollar for a video of Captain America with his mouth full.” She grinned and took a bite.

 

He opened his mouth as though he was about to say something, and paused. “So, uh, Darcy?”

 

“Mmm?”

 

“What’s the Internet?”

 

****

 

The rest of the afternoon consisted of Darcy setting up Steve’s new laptop and showing him the wonders of Google and Wikipedia. Time seemed to have been flipped to warp speed somewhere in between Darcy introducing the “Random Article” link on Wikipedia and showing him YouTube. 

 

Halfway through the two of them laughing at a compilation of cats playing piano, Steve’s head snapped up and he peered out the window. Darcy, without the benefit of super-hearing, was slower to hear the car pulling up to the cabin. When had it gotten dark out?

 

“Okay, so I guess that’s it for today,” Darcy said, scrambling around the cabin to find where she had left her purse. “Feel free to text me tonight, if you have questions about anything.” She pulled her coat on, struggling for a moment to get her arm through the sleeve. Steve, ever the gentleman, stood to help her get it on. “Thanks,” she murmured softly, staring for what was probably too long up into his bright eyes. 

 

“Thank you, Darcy,” he said, opening the door for her, a gentle smile creeping across his face. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

She was about to wave goodbye when she remembered something vitally important. “Oh! Before I go… um, maybe don’t Google yourself. I think you might not be ready for that. Rule 34, and all.” _Shit. Goddammit, Darcy_. “Don’t Google that, either.”

 

She ran down the steps before he could say anything else–clearly her parting words were going to raise some questions that she did _not_ want to answer– and climbed into the SUV. 

 

“Evening, Miss Lewis,” Derek greeted her from the front seat. “How did it go?”

 

Darcy heaved a deep sigh and closed her eyes, images from the afternoon playing behind her eyelids. Steve’s hand enveloping hers, his wry smile, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed. Her stomach flipped over, in a not entirely unpleasant way. “To be honest, Derek, it was a goddamn mess. And I’m utterly, completely, screwed.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, so I also have a bit of a request. I'm hoping that the next chapter will take me less than five months to post, and for that to happen I'm in desperate need of a beta. I really need someone to help with structure/plot stuff, and someone who can tell me when to kill my darlings, something I have a lot of trouble doing. I don't really need help with things like proofreading/grammar, but if you're strong with story stuff and want to help keep me from tearing my hair out, please contact me on tumblr, @itsjanetsnakehole


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